Burn it Down
by Victorian Asylum
Summary: Maybe serving on an ship full of hydrogen was mad. Maybe continuing to board airships full of hydrogen was mad. Like she wanted to die just like him. Or maybe... maybe it was just prophetic. Post-Goliath one-shot.


The sounds all around Alek twist and turn, weaving amongst each other to form a tangled force that batters his ears. Some people shout, while others scream. Those who are actually trying to help are yelling commands, but they are ultimately lost on the growing crowd.

All diplomacy lost, the former prince pushes and shoves his way through the ever thickening throng of people, none of which seem to notice. He pauses a moment to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. Steel himself for what lies ahead. He never once dares to think negative.

He snatches a glimpse at the faces around him. The women are nearly hysterical, most of them having turned away from the disaster, faces buried behind shaking hands. The men gathered are shocked, eyes wide and jaws slackened. None think to do something.

A few children talk in hushed voices, face awash with terror as one brave soul recounts his journey to the front of the mass. Alek clenches his jaw and balls his fists before moving on. _She'll be fine. _He convinces himself. _Just a bit burned, but nothing more._

He isn't truly prepared for what he sees. The burning wreckage of an airship lies sprawled across a small strip of businesses, all of which have been consumed by flames; large red demons licking up every square inch of space within grasp.

Alek freezes at the sight. He can barely recognize the poor Darwinist beast after it has been so horribly mutilated. A small part of him hopes the poor things is dead, to save it from this misery. Firemen scramble about like ants surrounding a squashed nest, rushing to combat the growing inferno.

An airman, by the look of him, stumbles out of the chaos, doused in flames from head to toe. He stumbles and falls and firemen converge upon him, seeming to swallow him whole. More wounded men are a safe distance away from the fire, being treated by frantic paramedics, who, for some, can merely try to numb the pain, but can do no more.

He doesn't see the familiar face he so desperately wants to. Without a second thought, he launches himself foreword, shoes fighting for traction on the ash filled ground. The smoke burns his lungs and stings his eyes. Burning embers fall all around him, small glowing dots that cling to his clothes and fizzle out.

"Dylan!" He cries. He almost uses her real name. Almost. But he remembers that the world hasn't caught up to her yet, and neither has her work, so he stops himself. There is no answer. Even if there was, how could he hear it in such a din?

He tries again with the same results. A third and forth attempt yield no fruits. His fifth attempt ends in a coughing fit as he inhales a lungful of soot. The men working around him seem to finally notice him, and two of them break away, advancing towards him.

"What are you doing?" One yells. He isn't angry though. "It's too dangerous, get out of here. Go!"

"I have a friend on board!" Alek states, trying to sidestep the pair. All he needs is to see her face, to know she is still breathing, heart still beating that precious rhythm and he'll be alright. He could make it through the day with that.

One of the men reaches out and shoves him back to the crowd, which is steadily being forced back farther and farther. "Stop by the hospital. If he survived, he'll be there. Even if he didn't, he'll be there somewhere, just stay away. We don't want anymore getting hurt."

With one final shove that nearly knocks Alek off his feet, he is safely within the mass of bodies again, which has steadily been decreasing. _Even if he didn't. _The phrase sticks in Alek's mind, catching in his throat. Then he shakes his head.

He doesn't remember getting there, but he eventually finds himself at the hospital, slumped against the wall with his legs pulled up against his chest, forehead resting on his knees. People have been rushing by him for hours, or at least what felt like hours.

No one named Dylan has been admitted. In fact, no one named Dylan has ever been inside the hospital before, as far as the staff is concerned. Alek can feel the hope slipping through his fingers like melting snow, but desperation prevents him from letting go completely.

Things in the hospital are still hectic, though the river of people has lessened some. A hand on his shoulder makes him jump and he quickly tries to regain his composure. The sympathetic face of an aged and well-worn doctor greets him.

"They've put out the fire." He says in a quiet voice. He sounds tired. Dealing with burned airmen can do that to a man, though. "They are searching for anyone who may be stuck among the wreckage." He doesn't mention that they are also looking for bodies. "They may let you through now."

Alek nods numbly and the doctor steps back as he rises. The older man gives a small, sad smile and a brief pat on the former prince's back before heading back down the corridor to face the horrors of a flight gone horribly wrong.

Alek exits the building. The sun is just beginning to set, turning the sky into a cruel mockery of the madness from earlier. He remembers Deryn telling him why the sun sets a certain color, but can't recall exactly what she had said.

It isn't hard to find his way back. There are small, forlorn wisps of smoke rising into the air to lead him towards it. There is no longer a package of people surrounding the area, but most of the firemen are still there.

One of them, who must be taking a brief brake and is taking a drink of water, turns to look at him. He seems to recognize him from before, because his features soften. "Don't get too close, okay kid? There could still be pockets of fire that we've missed hiding among the rubble."

Alek nods once more, spinning on his heels towards the airship, which is very close to being reduced to a pile of fabricated ash. He pauses though, and glances over his shoulder. "You haven't, by any chance, found a young man? About my age, a little taller?"

The man shakes his head. "Sorry, kid."

Swallowing the rising lump in his throat, Alek moves as close as he dares. He can feel the ghost of heat emanating from the wreck, quite different from the roaring inferno from hours before. He watches as two firemen drag a charred body out and his heart stops.

Then he sees that the corpse is much too large to be her and breathes a deep sigh of relief. The blood-pumping muscle in his chest begins a marching beat that carriers his feet farther towards the destruction.

One of the men waves a hand at him and he pauses. "That's as far as you're allowed for now, I'm afraid." He says. He raises his arm and wipes sweat off his brow. "It'll be a good while before we can completely search the ship, so there's no guarantee we'll find who you're looking for."

"I-" Alek fights back the burning sensation in his eyes, clenching his fists and screwing up his features a moment. "I just want confirmation, that's all."

"But confirmation of what?" The firemen asks quietly before returning to his duties.

The statement hits Alek hard, like metallic foot of a walker in full swing. He runs a hand through his hair. It's a simple question with a simple answer. The logical part of his mind already knows. It's just not possible she could survive. If she did he would have found her by now.

However, every other part of his brains beats the logical part into near annihilation. Deryn was a friend. More than a friend. She was his ally, forever and always, and it wasn't in her nature to leave him so soon, so suddenly. She would follow him into Hell, no questions asked.

Would she leave others, though? Her one greatest fear was fire and now that the airship she'd been in had caught fire... would she stay behind and help others, despite the fact that she could die in a most agonizing way, consumed by the very thing that darkened her mind and soul?

Silently, Alek sinks into the ground, falling first to his knees, before resting on his heels. He buries his face in his hands. This mental war is too much. He just wants to find out the verdict one and for all so he can end this. He just doesn't know if he is prepared for all the possibilities.

When he peers through the slots in his fingers, stars are glittering in the cold sky, and the electrikal lamps have sputtered to life, casting a surreal glow about the place. He sees a man walking towards him, and quickly composes himself, rising to his feet and smoothing his shirt.

"Here." The man extends a hand. Something small gleams in his hands, reflecting the sickly artificial light. "Haven't found your friend, but one of the men found this."

Alek carefully extracts the object from his calloused, ash caked hands. It's a medal. The Air Gallantry Cross, to be exact. It is warm, like the ghost of the strong, rough hands he knew so well and had come to love resting reassuringly over his own.

The sky blue ribbon that once adorned the top is burned off, save for a small tuft of it that is stubbornly clinging on. It's slightly melted in some parts, but other wise intact. Alek runs a thumb over the surface, wiping away the pitch black soot to reveal the face of Charles Darwin.

Except he doesn't see the fabricator's face. He sees _her _face, with a teasing smile playing across her lips, hypnotic blue eyes gazing back at him from within its metal prison. He's abruptly thrown from his illusion by a hand on his shoulder. He starts, head shooting up, before relaxing.

"Was that your friend's medal?" The fireman asks.

Alek stares at it a moment. "Yes, it was. Is. He was awarded it when he was in the Royal Air Navy, for saving a fellow midshipman." Then a thought strikes him, and he looks up, locking eyes with the worn out man in front of him. "Did you find this near a body?"

The man sighs, like he was expecting the question. "No, sorry. It was no where near a body, for that matter."

"Oh," Alek's shoulders sag in defeat. That was it. All hope is gone. The best thing in his life is ripped from his grasp, just when he thought he'd finally found peace. It seems that Providence has dealt him a hand destined to bring tragedy.

The fireman opens his mouth to say more, but obviously thinks better of it and decides to leave the former prince alone, saying one last, "Sorry," and then is gone. Alek turns away, back towards the city, his temporary home, so lonely now without a comforting presence to share it with.

Alek cups the medal with both hands and presses it against his heart, bowing his head as if praying. The fading warmth seeks refuge in his clothes, seeping down into his skin. And, for the briefest of moments, it feels as if she is right there next to him, telling him that everything is alright.

**X X X**

**Author's Notes:** Uh oh, I think I just killed Deryn. Damn. Well, you'll have to forgive me for that, apparently my sleepy mind conjures up character deaths right and left. You'll also have to forgive me if it switches to past tense in this little one-shot. It was written at night, and sometimes when I'm not thinking I switch up the tense. I don't know what possessed me to write this. It didn't even turn out like I wanted it to. But, hey, it's something to post, at least.


End file.
